


Shattered

by isnt_it_pretty



Series: Of Broken Hearts and Kindred Spirits [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Basically Felix's version of Can't Be Won't Be, Coming Out, Felix realizes he's gay, Growing Up, Homophobia, Implied Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Its Glenn, M/M, Minor Character Death, Rodrigue yells at Sylvain's parents a few times, also swearing, and in love with Sylvain, child/teenager death, glenn dies, mild angst?, off screen though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 02:30:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20667839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isnt_it_pretty/pseuds/isnt_it_pretty
Summary: At six years old, he knows Sylvain will always be there for him, will always be his best friend. Forever.





	Shattered

**Author's Note:**

> Hi I'm a little tipsy editing this so sorry about that. I was sober writing it though,
> 
> Also my birthday was yesterday and it hit me, I've been writing fanfiction for seven years.
> 
> Next story will be a short chapter fic (yeah I'm already finished writing it), where we'll actually get Sylvlix (Sylvix? Fuck it)
> 
> PS. Please, if you have any idea of what majors any characters should being going for, tell me. I am begging you.
> 
> Edit: Hit me up on Instagram @ isnt_it_pretty and on discord at Canadeath#1368 please be friends with me and talk about Sylvlix trash

At six years old, Felix knows many things to be true.

The sky is blue, the Earth is round, chocolate milk comes from brown cows; and most of all, Sylvain is his best friend in the whole entire world. 

Most of the older kids ignore him, but not Sylvain. Even when they make fun of him, Sylvain just laughs and tells them they’re just jealous they don’t have a best friend as great as Felix.

It makes him happy to know that Sylvain thinks of him as his best friend, too. 

They play in their backyards, ride their bikes down the street. Sylvain on his red two-wheeler, and Felix, still with training wheels that his dad doesn’t have time to take off. 

“But Sylvain doesn’t need training wheels!” he tells his dad, for probably the tenth time. Not that Felix can count much higher than ten yet.

But as always, his dad gives the same response. “I’ll take them off later kiddo.”

_ Later. _ He always says that, but he’s always too busy.

Eventually, its Miklan who takes pity on him, and takes them off. He’s fourteen, six years older than Sylvain, eight older than Felix.

“There you go,” he says as he passes the small blue bike back to Felix. “Just don’t break your arm or anything. I don’t want to be the one to blame for that.”

Felix doesn’t break his arm, although he does fall. A lot. 

“You’ve just gotta find the sweet spot!” Sylvain encourages him, smile missing teeth. How much had the tooth fairy given him for them? “You’ll find the balance!”

Eventually, after much trial and failure, (“Use your breaks Felix, don’t just put your feet down), some blood and tears (here, I have a bandaid. Are you okay?), Felix manages to ride down the street without falling.

Glenn looks amazed that he managed to learn all by himself, nevermind that Sylvain helped him. His dad barely registers the new development, too busy working. He’s sad about it, wants to cry, until Sylvain gives him another toothy grin and says:

“My mom gave me some money, wanna get slurpees?”

They do, and Sylvain laughs at his brain freeze.

At six years old, he knows Sylvain will always be there for him, will always be his best friend. Forever. 

* * *

It’s confusing, when Miklan gets kicked out. 

“Holy shit,” Glenn says, twelve years old and oh so mature.

“Glenn!” Ingrid scolds. “That’s a bad word!”

He just shrugs, turning his attention back to Sylvain. “And he hasn’t come back yet?”

Sylvain shakes his head. “No. And I don’t think he’s allowed to. My mom and dad were super mad at him.” He looks sad, heart broken really, and maybe a little bit scared.

Felix looks between his brother and best friend. Is he missing something? He looks to Dimitri and Ingrid, both just as confused as he is. None of them have an answer.

“Dad,” he says over dinner that night. Even if his father was always busy, he still ate meals with his kids. It was pretty much the only time they saw him.

“Yes Felix?” he looks up from his phone, where he’s replying to an urgent email.

“What’s a ‘’faggot’?”

Glenn chokes on his water, and his dad sends him a glare that could turn a grown man to ice. Glenn throws up his hands in defense. “It wasn’t me!”

His dad turns back to him. “It’s a not very nice word people use for gay people,’” his eye brows crease. “People who love somebody of the same gender. Like two men in love, or two women.” He puts his phone down. “If Glenn didn’t tell you, where did you hear that word?”

“Sylvain said his dad called his brother a faggot, and then told him he wasn’t allowed to come back,” he’s confused by the situation. “Why would he do that?”

His father looks angry, and Felix isn’t sure what he said wrong. 

“Did Sylvain say when this happened?” he asks through his teeth.

Glenn speaks up, “Sunday night, over dinner.”

“Dad, are you going to tell us we can’t come back too?” his eyes are already filling with tears, so scared of the answer.

“Never.” His voice is stern. “I want you both to understand something. Are you listening?”

They both nod.

“No matter what anybody says, there is nothing wrong with love. So long as it's healthy and happy, it doesn’t matter whether it’s between two men, two women, or a man and a woman.” He looks at both of them intensely. “If either of you decide one day that you love a man, that’s okay. What isn’t okay is hurting others, for any reason. If I ever hear either of you repeat words like the one Sylvain’s parents called Miklan, I won't be happy. Understand?”

A chorus of, “Yes Dad,” falls from them both.

“Good.” he picked up his phone, and puts his half eaten plate on the counter. “Finish your dinner. I have to make a phone call. Then we can watch a movie, okay?”

“Okay!” Felix replies eagerly. It’s so rare to spend evenings with his dad. 

“Okay but it's my turn to pick!” Glenn adds.

* * *

They don’t go over to Sylvain’s house much after that, but it's okay. Sylvain still comes over to theirs, even if their parents seem a little tense every time they meet.

Other than that, very little changes. Well, aside from the words Sylvain uses.

“Hate breeds hate,” his dad says once, when Felix asks why Sylvain uses words he isn’t allowed too. “He’s doing what his parents do. All we can do is show him there’s another way.”

And so Felix does. He tells Sylvain that those words are mean, that they hurt people’s feelings. Sylvain only shrugs. 

It gets worse a couple years later. Sylvain is thirteen, his last year of middle school, and for some reason he’s decided anything feminie or 'gay' is bad. He won’t even play dolls with Ingrid anymore. It upsets her, but Glenn tries to explain that it’ll be okay, that she’ll understand when she’s older.

They’re still friends, which is good. Felix doesn’t know what he’d do if Sylvain weren’t his friend. Doesn't even remember a time when he wasn’t. Although sometimes he wonders if they’ll stop being friends, just like their dads have. 

Sylvain smiles and promises they won’t.

“We’ll die together, remember?”

It all changes two years later.

Glenn dies pushing Dimitri out of the way of a speeding car, going almost twice the residential speed limit. 

The bastard doesn’t even stop.

Felix is at the store with Sylvain and Ingrid when it happens, buying candy with their allowances (Even when Sylvain pretends he’s too mature to). Dimitri was supposed to meet them there.

Ingrid’s mom picks them up, tells them that it’s time for Sylvain to go home, and that Felix’s dad needs to see him. She won’t elaborate more than that, but her hands are white knuckled on the steering wheel as she drives.

He sees a police car drive by, lights flashing and sirens blaring. It turns down his street and Felix finds himself hoping, praying, that nothing is wrong.

Mrs. Galetea doesn’t turn, instead driving the next street over and drops Sylvain off at his house. They share a confused, anxious look before he closes the car door. They stay long enough to see him get inside.

He expects them to go to his house next. They don’t. Instead, they go back to Ingrid’s. 

“Your dad will be along to pick you up soon,” she says. There’s something in her voice he can’t detect. 

She’s shaking, Felix notices. He tries to ignore the pounding of his heart, and the feeling that  _ something’s wrong, something’s wrong, something’s wrong. _

Anxiety eats at him, he tries to push it away. They play with her dolls (gifts from her grandparents. They made super hero costumes for her Barbies) until finally,  _ finally, _ four hours later, the doorbell rings.

He hears Mrs. Galatea answer it.

“Rodrigue-”

“Not now,” he isn’t angry, but Felix can’t place the sound in his voice. Dejected? Hopeless? Has he even heard him like this before? “Felix?”

“In the living room, with Ingrid. Do you need-?” She doesn't finish her question. Whatever implication is left unsaid.

There’s silence, probably a nod, before he hears, “they’re still cleaning up the street.” His voice cracks. “Fuck.”

He and Ingrid share a look.

“Jesus Christ,” Mrs. Galatea was a Christan, strongly so. To hear her say that- “Dimitri?”

They don’t hear the response. 

“Ingrid,” her mom says, coming into the living room. Her voice is high, nervous and stressed. “Put your shoes on, we’re going to go for a drive.”

“But Felix-” she starts.

“Felix is going to stay here with his dad for a bit, now come on please.”

They leave, and Felix can’t help the way his hands shake.

His dad sits down on across from him. His eyes are red rimmed. 

“Dad?” he asks, trying to stay calm.

“There’s...” he takes a deep breath. “Felix, there’s been an accident.”

And just like that, his entire world shatters.

* * *

“Ingrid,” he whispers in the darkness. “Ingrid, wake up.”

She blinks open her eyes in the dim lamp light. “Felix?” she asks. “What the fuck are you doing in my bedroom? How did you get here? What time is it?” 

“Just after midnight,” he answers. “And also, the window.” He glances behind him, where the window is still open. At least he put the screen back. 

At one point, being at her house wouldn’t have been unusual, but that was before. Now, their relationship is strained, all of them all. The four of them, he, Ingrid, Dimitri, and Sylvain, barely speak anymore, and when they do it was full of tension. The elephant in the room, everybody walking on eggshells. Fine by him, all anybody ever wanted to do was talk about Glenn.

Over a year later, and Dimitri was still in therapy (apparently being covered in your childhood friend’s blood and brain matter would do that to you. Who knew?). Ingrid had only just stopped going regularly, working through the grieving process was easier when she hadn’t  _ seen _ it. Still, she can’t go to Felix’s house anymore. Can’t walk down the street without seeing where it happened. At least the road isn’t stained with his blood, their neighbours made sure of that. 

As for Felix, he’d refused therapy from the start. Instead he grieved through anger. He dived into his martial arts practice despite the continued lecture about how it wasn’t supposed to be violent. He picked up wrestling (even if he was small), and boxing. Let his world be consumed by physical activity as everything else fell away.

Sylvain on the other hand, seemed to barely grieve at all. He barely spoke to any of them, and when he did, it was tense. He was too busy chasing after girls, and apparently getting drunk on the weekends.

Felix didn’t see the appeal.

At least now he knew  _ why _ he didn’t. He’d come to the realization only hours prior, unable to sleep as his brain cycled through old memories. All of them tainted with the afterimage of a closed casket.

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, sinking deep into his gut. In a fit of panic, he did the first thing he could think of. He went to Ingrid.

There wasn’t anybody  _ else _ he could trust with it. Sure his dad wouldn’t care (he still remembered those words, the scene seared into his mind like so many others), but fuck telling him anything. He lost his ability to trust him after Glenn died. After his entire fucking ulogy was about how grateful he is that his son had saved Dimitri. Bastard.

“And why, pray tell, are you in my bedroom just after midnight?” she was squinting at him, drawing him back to the present. “Are you high?"

“Oh please,” he scoffed, “who do you think I am, Sylvain?” Fuck, the name felt like a dagger through his heart. Good to know.

“Fair point,” she concedes. “What is so important it couldn’t wait until morning?” her grogginess was wearing off. Any moment now and she’ll realize he snuck out and climbed a fucking tree to get into her room, and then he’ll be in for it.

“I think I’m in love with Sylvain,” he blurts out.

She blinks at him. He blinks back. 

“Okay, rewind.” She pushed her hair out of her face, and moved so he could sit on the edge of her bed. “What do you mean you’re ‘in love with Sylvain’?”

Felix sits down. He’s scared she’ll reject him, the way he knows Sylvain would. He’s scared of what she might say, wonders if she’ll sneer and call him names. Logically, he knows Ingrid would never. He’s seen her tell Sylvain off for his choice of language, heard her talk about it, but he’s still scared. 

“I don’t like girls, Ingrid,” he tells her. “I don’t think I’ve ever liked them. Everybody I know has gotten crushes, but I never did.”

She blinks again, brain trying to process what she’s hearing after just being woken up at fucking  _ midnight. _ “Okay,” she says, surprisingly calm. As if Felix hasn’t been agonizing over this for hours. “So you’re gay.” She says it like it’s easy. Just a fact of life, which Felix supposes it kind of is. That doesn’t stop his reaction.

“I- what?” he asks, more shocked at her response than she is at his revelation. How could she just accept it so easily?

“Honestly,” she reaches for a hair tie, “I can’t say I’m entirely shocked. Like you said, you never got crushes like the rest of us, but- Wait.” Her brain is finally catching up. “You said-  _ Sylvain?!  _ Of all people, you’re in love with  _ him?! _ ”

He groans, letting his head fall into his hands. “I know. I know! It’s terrible.  _ He’s _ terrible. The absolute worse. He’s a jerk, and a nightmare to be around. All he’s interested in is girls and sex and drinking. I don’t think he even does his homework anymore, if he bothers going to school in the first place. We barely talk, and when we do we just end up fighting. But I couldn’t sleep, and I got thinking about when we were kids and how much I miss him, and how I wish we could get along again, and I just... realized it.” Okay, he was ranting a little bit. But who could blame him? Even if Ingrid wasn’t surprised, it was still news to him! “I panicked, and I had to tell somebody. Dimitiri is out of the question, and I don’t have any other friends-”

“Gee, thanks,” she replies flatly.

“Shut up you know what I mean!” He leans back, so he’s laying horizontally across her bed. “This is a fucking nightmare.”

She nods, “It kind of is.”

They fall into an uneasy silence, both their minds whirring. Felix still in a state of near panic.

“So, are you going to tell him?” she asks eventually. Calmly, as if it were that fucking easy. As if he could just walk up and tell the most homophobic person he knows that he’s in love with him. Perfect idea.

“Are you insane?!” 

“Shut up!” she hushed him. “My parents are asleep you know. And unless you want to explain to them why you’re here, stay quiet. I don’t need them thinking you snuck in to have sex with me or something!”

He cringes. “Whatever,” it was harsh, but quieter. “You know what he’s like Ingrid,” he says. “He hates gay people. Won’t even associate with them at school, or anybody he deems  _ ‘too feminine’ _ . Ugh, he’s the worst.”

“Yeah, he is,” Ingrid says in agreement. “It’s too bad. After Miklan he could have gone one of two ways. Supportive or hateful. It’s too bad he went with the latter.”

Felix shrugs.

“So what are you going to do?”

He sighs. The golden question. “I don’t know. Probably nothing. If he knew, he’d hate me, and I’d rather not jeopardize what little friendship we still have.”

His eyes are burning. Fuck, it’s been so long since he’s cried. He won’t do it now, no matter how much he misses Sylvain, wishes with everything he is that everything could be like it was again. He knows it never will be.

They stay up late talking, and Felix falls asleep on the end of her bed. He doesn’t cry. 

Come morning, if Ingrid’s parents see them, they don’t say anything.

* * *

It’s late when the phone rings, but not late enough to sleep. He has a project due first period and Ingrid will  _ kill _ him if he doesn’t get his half finished on time. Fucking biology. Fucking group work.

He doesn’t bother answering the phone. It’s the middle of the night, if it’s important they can leave a fucking voicemail. Finally, it stops.

It starts ringing again a moment later.

“Fucking hell,” Felix mutters, but doesn’t move to get it. His dad can wake up and answer it for all he cares, it’s probably for him anyways.

The ringing stops halfway through, meaning his dear old father finally answered it. 

Whatever.

He’s typing away about cell division (Is this mitosis or meiosis? He has to check) when he hears his father’s muffled voice coming from down the hallway. It’s too far away to make out the words, but it’s definitely coming closer. 

He ignores it.

“I’m checking now,” the voice is just outside the door. “I don’t think so, but I’ll ask.”

There’s a knock, and Rodrigue Fraldarius doesn’t even wait for a response before opening the door. Asshole.

His father looks tired, exhausted really, wrapped in his house robe. Blue, it used to be Felix’s favourite colour. (Blue like his bike and childhood dreams, like the shirt Glenn wore, splattered in his blood, the suit they buried him in, deep within the ground). The phone is pressed to his chest, so he can speak without being overheard by the person on the other end.

“Felix,” he says, eyes scanning his bedroom. His voice is serious. “Have you seen Sylvain?”

“Sylvain?” he repeats, mostly to rid himself of the shock. The name leaves a bad taste in his mouth, especially after their last conversation. “No, haven’t in awhile. Why?” 

“Any idea where he might be?”

He shakes his head, twirling a pencil between his fingers. 

His dad doesn’t reply, just puts the phone back to his ear as he closes the door. “No, Felix hasn’t seen him.” Silence. “Of course.” The voice is getting further away. “Keep me updated?”

If there’s more to the conversation, Felix doesn’t hear it.

He tries to get back to work, but finds his attention is gone. Eventually he gives up. Ingrid can yell all she wants.

It takes far too long, but eventually Felix falls into an uneasy sleep. He dreams are hunted by a closed casket.

The phone ringing,  _ again, _ is what wakes him up. The morning sun is just barely peeking over the horizon. 

Felix groans, reaching for his phone to check the time. 5:53am. He doesn’t have to be awake for another forty minutes. Well, there’s no use trying to fall back asleep now, maybe he can go for a jog or something.

He’s getting changed when there’s a knock on his door. 

“Felix?” his father asks from outside, sounding strangely apprehensive. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah,” he replies too tired to be snarky. He tugs on a shirt. “You can come in.”

The door opens and his father looks... fucked, honestly. It’s the only way to describe him.

“Felix, can you sit down for a second?” he asks, motioning to the unmade bed.

His voice is strained, and Felix reminded of the day Glenn died. When he sat in Ingrid’s living room and told him he was dead. Isn’t this just a wonderful start to the morning?

“What’s wrong old man? Can’t come out and say whatever it is?” He won’t lie, at least not to himself. He’s worried, remembering the phone call the previous night. But worry isn’t enough to put aside his frustration with his father. 

“Please,” he says, “just sit down.” He runs a hand through his hair. It's going grey with age and stress. 

Hesitantly he complies, taking a seat on his bed.

His dad sits in the desk chair. 

“I just got off the phone with Sylvain’s parents.”

His heart skips a beat, and his breath speeds up. They wouldn’t have called this early unless it’s important.

“Felix... there’s been an accident.”

_ “There’s been an accident.” Two years ago, thirteen years old. _

_ Glenn. _

He can’t hear passed the blood rushing in his ears.

* * *

They don't know whether he’s going to make it or not. Felix isn’t sure he can deal with this grief again, isn’t sure that any of them can.

His dad takes the day off, calls him out of school. He even picks up Ingrid, since her parents don’t have that option, and Dimitri. The drive to the hospital is tense, anxiety like static in the air, keeping them all on edge.

They’re hazy on the details, only know that Sylvain was missing the night before, and something happened. 

An hour after the call, they’re waiting in a room of white walls, and ugly plastic chairs.

Mrs. Gautier hysterical. It's good she's sitting down, because Felix isn't sure she'd be able to stand. Her husband is standing next to her, stoic as ever. There’s a police officer waiting nearby.

“He’s still in surgery,” Mr. Gautier says as they approach.

“What happened?” his father asks, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. Whatever happened between them, they made peace with it after Glenn’s death.

“A hiker found him this morning. They’re saying it looks like he fell.”

The details don’t get any clearer.

The police officer asks if he can question Felix, his dad agrees. He doesn’t have anything useful to tell.

Three hours later, four hours since they found out, and six since they found Sylvain, a doctor enters the room.

“Gautier?”

Sylvain’s mother rushes to him, his dad approaches slowly after. They wait in tense silence for the news. It’s the longest two minutes of Felix’s life.

Mrs. Gautier is crying again, she hugs the doctor.

“He’s stable,” she says when they come back, relief evident in her voice. “He’s in recovery now, but the nurse will be by to tell us when he’s moved, and we can see him.”

Another hour later, and they’re allowed in for a few minutes. Sylvain’s parents will stay longer, or at least his mother will. His dad is already talking about how much work he’s missing.

Felix’s father doesn’t look happy with that reaction.

He almost stops breathing when he enters the room. Sylvain looks terrible. He’s attached to wires and tubes, wrapped in bandages and bruises. A tube down his throat to help him breathe.

He leaves as fast as possible.

Four days later, the phone rings. Sylvain has woken up. By some miracle, there doesn’t seem to be any brain damage.

Felix doesn’t see Sylvain again. He finishes out the school year at home, unable to attend thanks to his recovery. 

Seven months later, the day of his 18th birthday, Sylvain moves away. He doesn't tell anybody where he's going, and doesn’t say goodbye.

It breaks Felix’s heart.

* * *

Felix graduates with honors, right along side Ingrid and Dimitri, who of course is their fucking validictorin.

They all apply to university, and somehow get into their top choice, Garreg Mach University. 

He debates taking a year off, but decides against it. May as well go with them.

Residence is expensive, not that he or Dimitri have to worry about money. Instead, they rent a three room house, much to Felix’s dismay.

“You’re going to make me live with  _ him _ ?”

“Shut up Felix,” Ingrid replies as she packs. “It will be fine, you can hide in your bedroom. It's not like it'd be any different than usual. Besides, it’s cheaper.”

He wants to bite out that money isn’t a fucking problem, but decides not to. It is for her. The only reason she can afford to go without enormous amounts of student loans is thanks to Glenn’s college savings; a gift from his father. 

_ “Glenn won’t use them, and Dimitri and Felix already have their own.” _

It’s going to be a long fucking year.


End file.
